Constant
by KuryakinGirl
Summary: There's a new constant in Ellie's life.  Written for the Spy/Medical challenge on livejournal.  Prompt: Heart Monitor


Disclaimer—Recognizable characters belong to Josh Schwartz and Chris Fedak. No copyright infringement intended. Any similarity to events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Author's Notes—Written for the September Spy/Medical "smut" challenge at the JellieShippers LiveJournal Community. Welcome to rather PG-rated smut... :) Prompt: Heart Monitor. Many thanks to the wonderfully talented GoddessofBirth (especially since I didn't pay anywhere near enough attention in English class in school, lol) and the amazingly phenomenal Raevon for the betas.

Spoilers—General information. Takes place after the events of Season 3. Ignores Season 4...

Constant—There's a new constant in Ellie's life.

* * *

Ellie was making her rounds, checking in on her patients. There was always plenty to do at the hospital, plenty to keep her mind preoccupied. The very last thing she needed was memories of the previous night to come to her, to invade her thoughts, to distract her.

But, it didn't seem to matter what she wanted. Whatever she did, whatever she looked at, she could see him, she could _remember_ him.

What distracted her particularly was the rather innocuous machine that was keeping track of the rhythmic beat of Mr. Waverly's heart.

_Lub dub... Lub dub..._

It had happened completely by accident, the first time she really noticed him. She'd gasped when she'd seen the gash, when she'd watched as the blood coursed down his arm and splashed onto the courtyard stones at his feet.

"Ellie..."

He had sounded so completely normal. Like there wasn't a thing out of place in the world. Like he wasn't _leaking_ rather important bodily fluids from a thick cut through his skin.

She'd guided him into her apartment, ignoring his protests about dripping on her spotless floor between the entry and her kitchen. He'd sat still on the dining room chair she'd provided while she had set about cleaning him up and patching him back together. She hadn't asked questions about where the torn stitches had come from, or what he'd done to pull them, but she'd felt compelled to issue her standard doctor warnings about what might come from improperly cared for wounds.

He'd listened obediently, nodding where appropriate.

She could tell, as she'd stitched his skin back together, that he was expecting her to say more. She could see the wheels turning behind his blue eyes, like he was trying to come up with a straight story to tell her.

Had it been Chuck, he was sure, she would've given her kid brother the third degree.

As she'd finished, stretching a soft gauze bandage over the wound, she had felt his eyes on her. She'd been humbled and amazed at the way he had looked at her. Like he was regarding her in a completely different light. It was respect and honor mixed with a touch of confusion.

He'd thanked her quietly, offered to clean her floor, then, at her refusal, saw himself out.

_Lub dub... Lub dub..._

The second time, she'd realized she really should be careful what she wished for. The very _last_ thing she'd wanted to do was spend her long weekend trying to keep up with her husband and his frat brothers on kayaks down the rapids. She had wanted to rest, to recharge her batteries in a way that aching muscles and sunburns wouldn't.

When she'd fallen in the parking structure at the hospital and sprained her ankle, she had realized that fate could be entirely too cruel.

She'd always been lucky to avoid the perils of crutches in her young life. She'd coached more than one patient on their finer points but she'd never spoken form a position of _knowing_ first-hand. She wouldn't have to lie anymore, saying they were a piece of cake. Because, by no means, were they.

She'd had a hell of a time maneuvering. What was a normal, everyday ease had increased in difficulty tenfold. She'd balanced her wrapped foot precariously atop her tennis shoe-covered one, leaning against one crutch while she'd rested the other on the side of the building. She had to keep a hold of the grocery bags because she couldn't easily bend over with those evil sticks of torture under her arms.

The key wouldn't quite go in. And the fresh eggs were in mortal _peril_.

None of that compared to the sudden fear she'd had when she realized she'd lost her balance, that she was falling a _second_ time in one day. She'd tried to brace her body, to prepare for what she knew would be another painful meeting of the earth. She'd sucked in an audible, quick breath, hoping to somehow land without further injuring herself.

But, there had been warm hands and strong arms keeping her from losing the battle with gravity. The crutch she'd been leaning against clattered to the stone, but she didn't. She'd fallen back only slightly against a wall of muscle and strength. At first, she'd thought it was Devon, maybe, canceling his trip after all, but when she'd seen the right hand reach out, securing the key in the lock, she'd noticed a familiar, distinctive ring on his ring finger, one that _didn't_ belong to her husband.

"John..." she'd managed, astonished.

He hadn't said anything as he'd swung the door open, as his fingers deftly stole the grocery bags from her hand, or as he offered her back her crutches.

She'd glanced over her shoulder at him, at the straight-line of his mouth, at the _concern_ in his eyes.

"Thank you," she'd whispered.

He'd only dipped his head slightly in return.

She'd hobbled in, and he'd followed, wordlessly putting away her groceries for her as she'd lingered in the dining room, watching him.

"Where's Woodcomb?" he'd asked finally, when he had finished.

"Heading north for the long weekend. It's a frat brothers extravaganza. Hiking, kayaking..."

While he didn't say anything, it was clear that he was mildly annoyed at that news.

"It's fine," Ellie had said quietly. By the look on his face, however, she could tell, very clearly, that he hadn't believed her. While she was annoyed that her husband had gone, it wasn't as though she were dying or completely an invalid or anything. She was just maneuvering thanks to a pair of over-grown toothpicks made for _torture_.

Casey'd paused for a moment, writing something down on the notepad that hung on the fridge. He'd torn the piece of paper off and placed it on the dining room table in front of her. "If you need anything."

She'd looked down at his cell phone number then back up at him.

But he was already practically at her front door.

_Lub dub... Lub dub..._

She'd lost track of the innocent looks that they'd shared. Sunday dinners at her apartment or Chuck's. Trips to the Buy More. Passing in the courtyard.

It wasn't right, how her heart skipped a beat under his gaze, was it? Not when she was a married woman.

But when Devon had looked at her, she hadn't feel that way. There wasn't a spark when the awesome blue eyes found her.

While it was confusing and potentially _dangerous_, she'd ignored it. She'd buried the emotion so deep, had denied it so long, that it was almost like it didn't exist.

Almost.

She had been on her way to take freshly baked cookies to the children's ward at the hospital. When she'd emerged into the courtyard, he'd stepped out of his apartment as well, in a smart tuxedo. It was tailored, clearly, to fit him. While she knew he wasn't just a retail pusher at a Buy More, it hadn't negated the fact that it was startling, not to mention _stunning_.

Sarah had been standing there as well, in a gorgeous cocktail dress and heels, her hair exquisitely coiffed, her makeup done to perfection.

A peculiar feeling took to Ellie's stomach as she'd watched Sarah's hand snake into the crook of Casey's arm. For the longest time, she hadn't been able to describe it, to figure out what it was.

It had taken her the entire drive to Westside, the entire visit with the children, and the entire drive back before she realized what it was.

She'd felt like she'd been run, head first, into a brick wall when it had dawned on her that she was somehow _jealous_ of Sarah.

Her life, while fine and good, didn't include trips out with a guy in a tuxedo excepting on very rare occasions. In fact, she could count them on one hand. Really, she could count them on _two_ fingers. Her wedding and the Embassy party.

She'd let herself believe that was all it was, that she was missing out on the romance department with fancy parties and elegant things to do.

But, after she had begged and pleaded and made a deal to go on an excruciating frat brother's weekend of UCLA football madness in exchange for a fancy dinner out... she hadn't had that same feeling.

Her heart didn't do flips at the sight of him in a tuxedo. It wasn't the same when she had to _force_ the issue. It was clear he wasn't enjoying it, that he wasn't exactly looking forward to the credit card bill that came from a random night of extravagance and romance.

Well, the romance was pretty lacking, too.

Why hadn't that worked?

_Lub dub... Lub dub..._

It'd continued to deteriorate, what she had with Devon. He hadn't understood where her moodiness was coming from or why she hadn't been able to define it properly. When he'd suggested maybe she see a counselor, she'd seen red.

She'd countered that he wasn't listening.

He'd said it was like she was speaking a whole different language.

While the back and forth began quietly, it had steadily grown louder and louder. While, rationally, Ellie had known she should tone it back, she couldn't. Devon hadn't found that ability either. It was only when Chuck finally knocked on the door because he was afraid someone was going to call the police that they had quieted.

One look on her brother's face and she could tell that they had successfully aired all of the dirty laundry possible for one couple to share in the confined space of an apartment complex. Everyone knew it was over.

Frustration from the argument had melted into shame, which had flamed into embarrassment more than anything. She'd sat quietly on the couch while Devon had packed a bag. There was nothing to say to him, not without the potential of having another emotional eruption. Given that their neighbors knew everything else, there was no need to rehash it.

She'd stood at the open door, watching Devon leave. She'd leaned against the doorjamb long after his car had pulled out of its spot. While a few neighbors came and went, most didn't spend more than one second looking at her.

Only when Casey had emerged from his apartment across the courtyard did he approach her. "Ellie...?"

She had blinked, looking up at him. "John, hi, I..."

He'd hesitated, like he had wanted to say something. He'd gone so far as to open his mouth, but he closed it, offering instead a saddened grunt. "I'm sorry," he'd said finally.

A new wave of tears had slipped from her eyes, but she'd nodded. As she'd watched him head back to his apartment, she had realized there were others who cared about her, not just her brother.

_Lub-dub... Lub-dub..._

While the ensuing weeks had been difficult for Ellie to look anyone in the eye for more than a split second around the courtyard, there was a bright spot, something she'd looked forward to. Every now and then, a meal had appeared on her doorstep. Something thoughtfully prepared, something meticulously crafted.

The day Devon had come to remove most of his belongings, dinner had been comfort food, meatloaf and green beans, even a decadent brownie.

After a month of being alone, it had been breakfast for dinner, with a plate of waffles, sprinkled with fruit, even an omelet.

On her birthday, a carefully frosted red velvet cupcake had sat on her doorstep.

The day her divorce had become final, there had been a bottle of wine alongside a scrumptious chicken parmigiana.

Ellie smiled the day after when she saw Sarah emerge from her brother's apartment. "Sarah!"

The blonde had turned. "Oh. Hi, Ellie. How are you?"

"I... I just wanted to say thank you."

"I... I'm not sure what I've done to warrant that," Sarah'd admitted.

"Oh, come on. I've seen both my brother's cooking and Morgan's supposed cuisine. You're the only one out of the people in your apartment who have any culinary skills whatsoever.

Sarah'd smiled politely. "That may be, but I'm still not sure..."

"The meals. The cupcake?"

Genuine confusion had crossed the spy's features. "You've been getting... food? From someone?"

"Well, yeah, and I thought..."

"It wasn't me. But, before you go accepting, or eating, anything else... let me look into it?"

Numbly, Ellie had nodded. "It... It's never been anything bad, Sarah, I-"

Sarah'd placed a hand on the doctor's arm. "Just precaution. That's all."

Both women had turned as Casey emerged from his apartment across the courtyard.

Ellie'd watched as something flickered in the blonde's blue eyes, something akin to a discovered idea. "Sarah...?"

"Don't worry," Sarah had said before quickly catching up to her partner as he'd headed for the parking lot.

As Sarah and Casey had disappeared around the corner, Ellie'd struggled to think back for clues. No meal had ever come with a note. While she was friendly enough with the rest of the neighbors, no one had ever shown even a passing interest in how she was doing after the "Argument Heard 'Round the Courtyard" as Morgan had taken to calling it.

She'd ruled out Chuck and Morgan easily. She'd been the unfortunate victim to their culinary skills more than once. She knew very well that they didn't have the prowess in the kitchen to accomplish anything like she'd seen. And while the food had arrived in disposable containers, there wasn't anything to indicate that the food had been prepared by a caterer or a restaurant.

Was someone watching her? Someone who might've figured out what she liked, what she didn't like? Someone who was spying on her? How could they know her birthday if they didn't know her, or that her divorce papers were coming in that day if they didn't know her...

Quiche.

Her heart had skipped a beat and she'd felt the blood flow seemingly change direction in her veins when she had the epiphany. The first time she'd ever laid eyes on her neighborly Marine, he'd been carrying a tray of homemade mini-quiches.

_Lub-dub, Lub-dub, Lu-dub... _

While Sarah had continued to be worried about her mysterious chef, Ellie had assured her that her secret culinary provider was perfectly safe. Even after everything she'd done to annoy the crap out of the NSA agent, going so far as to acquaint the bottom of her favorite skillet with the front of his face, Casey had never been anything other than polite to her.

And when she'd confronted him about it late that night after a long shift at the hospital and, guessing by his appearance, a long night on a mission, he'd confessed.

"Why?" Ellie'd asked. She had been a gracious enough interrogator to bring two steaming mugs of coffee to the courtyard.

Casey had slung the backpack off his shoulder, resting it at his feet for a moment, as he'd accepted the steaming mug of rich black coffee, just the way he liked it. "Why not?"

"Most people don't just randomly drop off secret meals for other people," Ellie had pointed out.

"I practically live in secret."

"That may be," she'd said, "but I know you."

"There are many things about me that you don't know, Ellie."

"I know more than you think..." She'd watched his blue eyes shift from tired to alert as he'd taken a sip of his coffee, letting her words filter through his brain.

A slow smile had appeared on his lips.

The simple act of that man moving a few miniscule muscles in his face had suddenly set hers on fire. She'd hoped that it was difficult to see the flaming blush on her cheeks in the darkened corner of the courtyard.

_Lub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dub..._

What had started as the occasional coffee in the courtyard had moved into carpooling to the grocery store. Those had quickly snowballed into all-afternoon events, starting with lunches at the Pie Shack, sometimes even a matinee at the movies.

Half-day outings were next, with theater tickets and dinners, dancing and drinks...

And another drink back at her apartment...

It had been months since her divorce was final, since she'd felt her heart tug him closer to her. Their relationship, whatever it was, wasn't supposed to be serious. It was supposed to be light and fun, to be something to do, to have someone to hang out with, to have someone to talk to.

Her heart, however, had discovered it was exactly what it needed. Without her even realizing what had happened, her heart had packed up and left her chest. It was back in one piece, healed from the damage it had done to itself earlier in the year, and it had planted itself in the protective comforts of his soul. It was a safe place to live, a place to grow strong with deep roots.

As she'd sat on the couch beside him, she'd felt mesmerized by the beat of her heart with his. It was probably a good thing neither were saying anything. She hadn't been sure she'd be able to hear over the rushing of blood in her ears. As hard as she'd tried, she hadn't been able to tell her lungs to slow down either.

He'd reached out, tucking her hair gently back behind her ear, his fingers hesitant. She had realized they were even shaking minutely, though she never would've guessed anything could flummox a trained government agent, especially not _herself_.

It was the natural progression, after everything they'd done. The neighborliness had grown into friendship. Friendship had sparked into a crush, which had ignited into a roaring, raging inferno. There was no extinguishing it, there was no _fighting_ it.

He'd leaned in first, his lips coming so close to hers. He had hesitated, trying to will his self-control to stay steely, to prevent himself from giving in.

She'd been the one to close the distance. It had happened so quickly, neither seemed entirely prepared for the rush of new emotions. For the first time in months, maybe even a year, she felt alive. She hadn't realized how much she'd lost until she'd gained so much _more_ in his arms. There was an invigorating energy, tingling sensations that seemed to zip along all her nerve endings, making laps through her body.

He'd been the one to pull her into his lap, encouraged that she'd taken the initiative. One hand had gotten lost in her silky dark hair, the other had rested on her hip as he'd continued to deepen the hungry kiss.

She had only vague recollections of taking off his jacket and tugging at his tie. She had remembered, vividly, being completely unable to call upon the fine motor skills to unbutton his shirt, and had wound up tugging it off over his head.

There had been moments of sensation-only memory, when she'd closed her eyes as he'd slipped the dress from her body, his large, warm hands coasting along her exposed skin. She'd thought, after months of dating-was it actually dating they'd done all this time?-she'd discovered each and every individual grunt he was capable of making. She'd long found them endearing and intimately more communicative than any string of words he could've put together. That night, she had committed more to memory. Each guttural, satisfied, _wanting_ sound was unique and new. The one she enjoyed especially had been when he'd managed to call her name, a warm, soft sound of pure desire, in her ear as he-

_Ludub-ludub-ludub-ludub..._

"Dr. Bartowski?"

She jumped at the sound of her name, swallowing, or attempting to swallow, the startled: "Oh, God." Placing a hand over her _pounding_ heart, she looked at the nurse who stood in the doorway, perplexed. She cleared her throat, or tried to. "Yes?"

"We've been paging you," she said. "You have a visitor..."

"A-a visitor?" she repeated, hoping she didn't look as rattled as she felt after having such _vivid_ recollections of the night before.

"At the front desk."

Ellie nodded. "Thank you," she said, looking one last time at the heart monitor, pounding out the same steady beat. She closed her eyes briefly, running her fingers through her hair. How could she have gotten so thoroughly lost in a memory?

As she exited from the darkened room, she pressed her cool fingers to her burning cheeks, hoping that the sensations would cease, that she could go back to functioning normally. She still had another three hours on her shift before she could go home. She couldn't be so distracted thinking about _ him_.

When she turned the corner, she felt like she'd walked into a solid brick wall. _He _was standing there, with takeout. As she knew he would, he smirked at the sight of her. He didn't bring attention to the fact that he knew she was flushed. He only said one thing as she led him to the doctor's lounge, where they could eat dinner in relative peace: "I can't stop thinking about last night, either."

* * *

End.


End file.
